


I'm the Rainbow in Your Jail Cell

by agirlsname



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bisexuality, Coming Out, M/M, POV Second Person, Pride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 18:36:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11765931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlsname/pseuds/agirlsname
Summary: Right now all is easy and relatively comfortable. But this is what the future will look like if you keep living like this.Look at it. Make a choice. Tread the seventeen stairs and change it.





	I'm the Rainbow in Your Jail Cell

**Author's Note:**

> This turned into something of a love letter to John - but not only to him. I dedicate it to people like him, to people like me; to anyone who needs the comfort of knowing they're not alone.
> 
> With this, I would like to welcome all my new subscribers; thank you for joining me, you lovely people! Even without having met anyone of you, I know for sure that you are all amazing (and I love to chat with you in the comments!).
> 
> Thank you Akhenaten's Mummy for the super quick beta!  
> Also, thank you to the stranger on my evening walk who inspired this fic - I hope your story is not as sad as I imagined.
> 
> Title borrowed from _Don't Forget Me_ by Red Hot Chili Peppers.

* * *

 

There is a flash of colour in the corner of your eye.

The fact that you see it is what makes you look twice.

 

It's the end of July. A friendly summer evening. Warm winds and fresh air. The sun is still up, pouring its gold through the crowns of the trees. Children ride their bikes slowly and without looking out for bigger ones, parents call out to them to stay on the side. Groups of youths go side by side, blocking the footpath, sweaters tied around waists.

Everyone is calm and safe, everyone has all the time in the world, everyone feels in their whole body that this July night will last forever.

 

You feel it too. You can walk aimlessly just because it's summer and you're alive. You can decide you have time for it, even though there's a mountain of dirty dishes that certainly nobody but you will take care of.

The walk makes the muscles of your legs warm and smooth. You need to exercise more, you know it, but it doesn't matter tonight because right now, you're just walking, and your mind is elsewhere. You think you don't need to worry about a thing, and you don't. Because you are alive and it's good.

 

You are alive now, you really are. It's almost the best life there is, the life you live. And _almost_ is enough, it's enough for now, and you think it will keep being enough.

But it won't, John. Not for someone like you.

 

There is a flash of colour in the corner of your eye.

 

The world is a bright sphere of colour around you. Green, gold walls on the sides. Playgrounds blue and orange and purple. Yellow bikes, red helmets, pink princess skirts. Your eyes just skim over it all.

But on a bench ten metres ahead of you, there is an old man with his arms folded on the table in front of him. A dark brown, worn jacket covers his bowed back. The hat on his head is black, it has lost its shape, and there are a few grey hairs sticking out from under it. He is so mediocre you wouldn't have noticed him, you'd have to strain your eyes to even look at him in all his insignificance.

You only notice because there is a pride flag lying twisted together on the table.

 

There's a surge in your stomach when you see it. You wake up from your walking trance and you look again.

And that's what gives it all away, you know.

 

It's not a flag, you now see. It's an umbrella. Striped in the familiar rainbow.

Look up at the old man's face. He has his back to the path you're walking, but you can see his profile, you can see him staring straight ahead, unmoving.

Waiting for someone, maybe.

 

You pass him by. You turn your head. You look at the rainbow umbrella.

London Pride is just over, you're thinking, that's why it caught your eye. Just recently those flags were everywhere.

You weren't a part of it, you never are.

But you think it's a nice thing for someone to walk around with such an umbrella.

Good for him.

 

You go on to the park. You must take off your summer jacket eventually. You enjoy the feel of the balmy air against the fine hairs of your underarms. You bathe in the green and the gold, you find comfort in the sky being so blue.

Do you see it now, John?

 

You head home.

You don't expect him still to be sitting there, but he will be. And it will make your heart clench.

Hunched forward, brown and black and insignificant, absolutely still. A pride rainbow umbrella on the table before him.

You need to face it now, John, you know what your friend says about seeing and observing.

 

It's not raining.

There's no way it will be raining.

 

Pride is over.

He knows that, though. It's too late to march through the streets together with his people. What's left is the quiet manifestations of a colourful piece of fabric lying untouched on a dirty table.

He knows he's waiting in vain. He knows it's too late to correct the wrongs, both his and those deriving from a wicked world. Too late to dare things he didn't when he still had the chance. As long as there is life, nothing is too late, but he didn't realise that until there was no life any more.

He's sitting here with the pride flag resting before him because there's nothing left for him to do. He's sitting here because now he can, now he'd be allowed to love, if only his love still walked the earth.

 

Can you even comprehend how small he looks? How lost. How resigned. He's never been a tall man, but now he isn't even strong, now he can't even make the impression of being bigger than this fragile shell of a human being.

And you know what, John? You know, don't you?

 

You know he's you.

 

When he turns to look at you you'll be surprised he can actually move, but he will be expressionless and you don't really want to see that. You don't want to carry the weight of the one second when he is present in this July evening, the second before he turns his eyes back to stare beyond it all, waiting for his past to finally have mercy on him and catch up.

He refuses to see it, but we both know that all that will happen is it will slip further away.

All he can do while he waits for death, is loving and loving and loving even though he's too late.

 

The pride umbrella looks so happy you can't help feeling a pang of joy at it.

And you know how much happiness he could have had. If he had been brave. But you also know not everyone can be that brave, not at any cost. This man is not a coward, and he didn't want to be.

He just didn't want to be a criminal, either. He didn't want to be sick.

 

Neither do you, nobody does. It's okay John, nobody does.

 

You look twice at the pride flag and you know why you do so.

You know you belong to them.

You watch them from afar. They don't know it, they are happy and they dance, and they love. You miss them and you wish they missed you too.

They love so much. They'd probably love you. Both of you. They'd make room for you on the dance floor and cheer when you kiss. Or just don't care when you kiss. Either way.

But you see the important point here, John, don't you? You miss that kiss.

The world is a rainbow, but you looked twice at that one.

 

You know this is how it's going to go. He's so reckless, your friend, he's not going to slow down. He's going to die on you and be lucky if it happens after he gets those bees he dreams about. The prospect of bees isn't enough to live for – you hope it is, but you see the truth in his eyes. It's not that he's unhappy, you think. He's just not attached to it all. He thinks he can die and it will make no difference, not for him, not for anyone. He's made his peace with it.

Sometimes you think that if you asked him to try to stay with you for as long as possible, he would consider it. But you never do.

So you know he's going to die on you. And you're going to see London Pride go by and you're going to buy a pride flag. You're going to clutch it like you think he will somehow be able to see you from the other side of the veil of afterlife – and if that's how it works, if he really can do that, and if it happens only for the briefest of seconds in all of eternity, then you need him to see you hold the flag, so he will know.

That's it. That's the rest of it from there onwards. You will not be able to live and not be true, John. All the fight will drain out of you, you will be just as small as your body and you will barely be visible. You will never love anyone else, because if you don't do it properly while he is still here, you will not be finished doing it once he's gone.

 

Say no.

Say no, John.

Say you will not be the empty man with the pride umbrella.

 

To say it's easy would be the biggest lie. It's not easy at all. It's just as scary as you imagine.

You will feel lost – but not more lost than you already do.

You will feel frightened – but not more frightened than you already do.

You will feel like you are different from everybody else – but you already knew you were.

The difference is it will all be harder to ignore. Really, John; it will be impossible to ignore.

But if you do this now, there will come a day when you no longer hesitate to say the tiny, two-letter word _bi_. There will be a time when you feel no shame or fear, only love and, yes, pride.

You will shine and you will be strong without even having to try. And if someone asked you to, you would march through London every day with a bi flag. And your bravery will carry others who are still ashamed and afraid.

That's how those parades work, you know. The strong ones carry the weak. Then the weak become strong and the strong weak, and they switch places. But there is always someone strong, and it is not always the soldier. Right now, you can allow them to carry you.

 

It does feel like your friend is already on the other side of the veil of death, but in reality he's just on the other side of the living room window. In less than a minute you will be there as well and there are no excuses, John, there are none. No one will force you to do it and no one will thank you if you don't. No one will live with the responsibility for all the missed chances except for you.

 

You didn't survive a bloody war and get hauled up from a suicidal den by the love of your life, just to let him slip by because he's a he.

Save the old man in your heart, umbrella and all.

Soothe him with the fact that you will do what he did not.

Tread the seventeen stairs.

 

He won't help you with the conversation at all, of course. You're used to that, though. If you begin by asking him if he's ever been at Pride, you know he will scoff and rant about how he hates crowds even though he doesn't really.

You could ask him anyway.

His ranting annoyance is how you will know you've caught him off-guard.

You quite like it when you're able to do that.

You could tell him you want to go next year and he would ask you why.

You could let go of everything and just tell him that it seems fitting since it's called LGBT plus and you're the B.

Savour his shock at this. Use it to drown out the panicky feelings of such a spontaneous coming-out.

 

Then you could tell him you want to go with him next year. Tell him you want to dance with him. Tell him you want to dance without closing any curtains.

His reaction to this is how you will know. If he's not interested, he will dismiss you and you will possibly break, yes, but it will get better eventually. But if, if, if – then this is where he will understand. And if he really, really, really – then he won't dare to believe it and he will deflect.

 

He will ask you why curtains have anything to do with this.

 

You could smile then. Everything, you could say. That's the whole point. You don't want curtains. You're done with curtains. Curtains are stupid, you could add, hoping the use of his favourite word will make him snap out of the freeze he will experience.

He will say he only closed the curtains because you didn't want anyone to see your poor dancing skills.

You could protest, pointing out that you only dropped him one time, and that was at the beginning.

He will say you did go through the thing rather beautifully in the end.

That's the word he will use. Beautiful.

 

You could tell him he's the one who dances beautifully. You could tell him that's why you want to hold him in your arms at Pride next year.

He will say he doesn't understand this insistence on Pride, you could dance at any time, you could dance now.

Maybe he will actually mean it rhetorically, or maybe he will play the game. Either way it will be so easy to reach out your hand.

It will tremble and feel stiff. But it always wants to reach for him, and that's what will make it easy.

 

He will break eye contact. He will reach for his laptop and open it.

Right, you will think. Too stupid a proposition to even answer. Suppose it's better to deal with the heartbreak now than when you're a fragile old man.

 

Then music will flow softly from his lap. He will put the computer on the desk, turn around and put his hand in yours.

Oh, John. You will burst when you take it.

 

I know you will do it.

This is the way it would go. It's the only way it could go with you two.

If not today, then another day.

I know you will, John.

 

And I think you will be fine.

It will be hard at the beginning, and then it will likely be hard again.

But I truly think we will be fine.


End file.
